Hello World
by Sen-chan21
Summary: A series of Hetalia drabbles, for anything that won't fit into a full-length story. Humor and fluff, various pairings. Chapter 1: SpainxRomano. Latest chapter: France meets American reality TV.
1. Grazie

**A/N: This is the start of a new series of short one-shots, mostly inspired by ongoing RP with Katherine-the-Crowned. Hope you enjoy~ **

"Mio amore."

Lovino stopped dead in his tracks. Antonio was speaking Italian. This could only mean one thing.

"What do you want?" he asked slowly, in Spanish to emphasize his point.

Antonio adopted a perfectly innocent, hurt expression. "Aw, now Lovi can't I just call you my love? You are, aren't you?"

Lovi narrowed his eyes. "You can say whatever the hell you want, but if you say it in Italian it means you want something, so spit it out already."

Antonio stepped closer and wrapped his arms around the smaller Italian's waist, looking down at him with soft eyes, trying to use them to dissolve any suspicion. Lovino wavered slightly under his gaze, but fought to stay on his guard. "It's not working," he declared with little conviction, "so tell me what it is you want."

Antonio ran a hand through the dark brown locks. "Your brother called me last night. He wants to have a 'family dinner' tomorrow night." Lovino's eyes narrowed dangerously again.

"With who…?"

The hand in his hair continued its movement, and Antonio reverted to Italian once again. "Oh, you know Lovi, just you and me…and Ludwig…" his voice suddenly became very small and quiet. "Gilbert and Francis…"

Lovi pulled out of his embrace with a scowl. "Absolutely not!" he shouted. "The potato bastard is bad enough, but his obnoxious brother and the perverted French frog you call 'friends'…"

Green eyes widened and a lower lip jutted out, just the smallest bit. "_Please_, Lovi…it would make Feli really happy…and I'll make Francis and Gilbert promise to be on their best behavior."

As he struggled to stand his ground under those big green puppy-dog eyes, the utter ridiculousness of the situation registered somewhere in the back of his mind. If only Mexico could see her great big conquistador _pouting_…

"Fine!" he agreed at last, grudgingly. "But they're all going to be perfectly satisfied with Italian food, and I swear, if those two perverts take one step toward me _or _you, I'll throw them out," he warned.

Antonio's smile instantly returned, and he leaned down to plant a kiss on the frowning lips.

"Grazie," he whispered before leaving to call Feliciano.

Lovino scowled at his retreating form. He'd have to speak Italian for a goddamn _month _to make up for this.

**A/N: *huggles them* They're so cute! I have a few more ideas for this, but with school starting Wednesday there's no guarantee on when they'll be posted, but I hope you'll stick around. Let me know what you thought of this chapter!**


	2. ThreeWay Call

**A/N: This is probably the fastest update this story will ever have. I said most of these would be inspired by RP. This happened at 2:30 a.m. just last week. We were completely delusional. Most of these won't be so heavily dialogue, but this one has a better overall effect this way. Hope you enjoy!**

**Characters: Bad Touch Trio, Canada, Romano, OC**

**Genre: Humor/Crack**

* * *

Human-country relationships were not common occurrences, nor were they encouraged, but they did happen occasionally. Arthur had been there to console his "Virgin Queen" when Sir Dudley was dishonored; Lovino had spent a few months with a pretty Italian girl when he got it into his head that he and Antonio needed a break (no one understood this, and Lovino would later wonder what on earth came over him to induce such temporary insanity). What _didn't_ happen, however, even occasionally, was _Gilbert_ having a _girlfriend_. Oh sure, one-night-stands were his norm, but a relationship? Never.

But two days before the World Conference in New York City, Gilbert had sought out a partner for the night at a local bar. Rachel had laughed in his face at the first mention of 'five meters' and proven herself to be more intelligent than the girls who simply fell at his feet, and Gilbert was intrigued. Now, she was studying abroad in Germany for a year, and had been fully informed of Gilbert's true identity.

But tonight's events began not in New York, not in Berlin, but in Ottawa, Canada.

"But why I don't understand," Matthew was saying, "is that if you know I'd never go for it and you're not suggesting it, why are we even _discussing_ the idea of having sex on the kitchen table?"

Francis shrugged. "I do not recall. However, if you ever choose to engage in such activity, make sure there are no utensils present."

"Well, yeah…I would think that would be important."

The Frenchman nodded seriously. "Just ask Gilbert." Matthew laughed.

"Did you two have a bad experience with that?"

"Not _moi_, but he and Antonio did once, long ago…I think he has a scar actually…" his face lit up. "I hope Miss Rachel asks about it, though he'll tell her it's a battle scar of some sort."

He grabbed his phone from the bedside table.

TO: Rachel  
FROM: Francis  
MSG: Ask Gilbert about the scar on his ass. If he says it's from a battle he's lying.

Still looking positively gleeful, he dropped the phone onto his lap. "And now we wait." It wasn't long however, before his phone lit up again.

TO: Francis  
FROM: Rachel  
MSG: -laughs- you'll have to tell me later. He's insisting it was a battle and glaring at my phone as I type this.

Francis laughed. "Of course…" The phone vibrated again.

TO: Francis  
FROM: Gilbert  
MSG: Shut. Up.

Another laugh and Francis pressed a few more buttons and set the phone on speaker as the other end began ringing.

"Hello?"

"Don't answer it! Everything he says is a lie!"

"I'm sure dear. Hello Francis."

"Hello~"

"Shut up Francis! It's from a battle!"

The voice on the other end of the line became distracted and there was a squeak of bedsprings as its owner attempted to squirm away from her companion.

"You may want to tell me before he manages to hang up the phone."

"It's from a fork! From when he and Antonio had table sex!"

Rachel burst out laughing, but stifled the sound after a moment.

"Aw…don't pout like that." The soft sound of a kiss before Gilbert continued, pout still evident in his voice.

"It was a battle…with Antonio's eating utensils…"

"Mm…sounds like a bit of a killjoy. I hope that one wasn't used at dinner."

"No…I don't think it was…but it is Antonio…"

"I'll call and ask!"

Francis leaned over Matthew to grab the younger man's phone as well, dialing quickly and putting it on speaker near the other phone.

"What the fuck do you want bastard? Do you know what time it is?"

"Lovino~ Let me talk to Antonio."

"No."

"LET HIM TALK TO ANTONIO!"

"HELL NO!"

"Hm?" came Antonio's sleepy voice.

"Antonio, when you and Gilbert had kitchen sex and the little incident occurred…did you use that utensil?"

"YOU DIDN'T RIGHT?"

A yawn.

"I don't remember."

At this point, from Francis's phone came a sound of someone banging on a door.

"Brother, it's two a.m.! Shut up!"

A faint click of an opening door and a rustling of sheets hastily pulled up as a cover.

"Ve…are we having a party…?"

Ludwig's murmured apologies could be heard before the door closed again.

"WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING TO FELI!"

"I'm not doing anything!"

"Why was he in your room? I swear to God, you lay one finger on him and you will die."

A sigh from the single female voice in the conversation.

"He heard shouting and came to investigate and find Ludwig, who was coming to tell us to shut up."

"Why is everyone so loud…?"

"No one calls at two in the morning to ask about sex!"

"Ah, to be fair here it is only eigh–"

"Oh, but then I remember who your friends are."

"Ow! Did you have to hit me?"

"Yes."

"Where are you going…?" Antonio whined.

"Me? I'm going to put your pillow on the couch." Another pitiful whine as Antonio began mumbling sleepily in Italian.

Through the Spaniard's slurred pleas, another voice broke in.

"Hm. Are we done?"

"Yes, that was all, sorry to disturb you two."

"_Lovi_…"

There was a muffled sound of a pillow hitting someone in the face.

"Fine, you can stay."

"You only came back because you were cold. If you slept in clothes you would be warmer."

"You took them off bastard! Hang up the phone already!"

"Okay. Good night~"

The line went dead, and Rachel spoke again.

"Uh…we're gonna go now…"

"Don't call again."

"Okay! I love you!" Francis crooned.

There was a smile in Gilbert's voice.

"Whatever."

As Francis placed both phones back on the table, Matthew simply stared at him.

"Yes?"

"I…I have no words for you."

Francis merely grinned and pulled the Canadian against his chest, nuzzling his hair affectionately.

"How about 'I love you'?"

Matthew rolled his eyes and smiled, leaning up for a kiss.

"I suppose that works."

* * *

**A/N: I absolutely must give credit for this chapter to Kat, because a vast majority of the content (at least 90% of the dialogue) is all from her brain, while I simply sat and watched, laughing tears into my eyes and piping up as Rachel or Matthew where needed.**

**If any portions of the dialogue are confusing, let me know. I'm thinking of adding just the dialogue with name labels to my deviantArt if anyone wants it. Hope you enjoyed this chapter! Please Review!**


	3. Lingua Franca

**A/N: "lingua franca**- **a language systematically used to make communication possible between people not sharing a ****mother tongue****, in particular when it is a third language, distinct from both mother tongues" – from Wikipedia.**

Francis was never more pleased than when English became the _lingua_ _franca_.

It wasn't that he was particularly fond of the language, guttural and rough as it was. Indeed, he had refused to learn it for many years, to Arthur's great frustration.

No, the reason for his relief was that he no longer had to listen to those Germanic nations mutilate his beautiful language anymore. The French language was a work of art, and to listen to some of his friends speak it was something akin to watching a child finger-paint over the Mona Lisa.

Of course, not everyone was so terrible. For those who shared his linguistic heritage, communication had never been an issue. Feliciano, for all his uselessness in battle, was actually quite talented with languages. Latin and Spanish were on almost equal footing with his native Italian, his French was excellent, and over the course of the two world wars, he had managed to learn English and German, and taken an interest in Japanese.

His brother, on the other hand, absolutely refused to speak French, though he did show he understood. He spoke Italian at home, perfect Spanish with Antonio, and at world gatherings when spoken to in French he would answer in Latin. He accepted English when it became clear he could no longer ignore it, and presumably because Arthur was far less arrogant (about his language at least) than was Francis.

Arthur was tolerable, probably because of the extended amount of time spent around the Frenchman, unable to speak his own language with his lover/enemy – it depended on the week, really – for many years.

Roderich, through his thick accent, had an adequate command of the language, and Ludwig really tried, managing to at least communicate.

And then, there were his friends. Francis could converse freely and easily with Antonio in French, Spanish, or Latin, but Gilbert was always the oddball. His Latin was never the best, and his French was…well, it's safe to say Gilbert was the child finger-painting on the Mona Lisa of the French language.

Of course, it really came down to Alfred. In his isolation, he'd never had reason to learn any language but English, and now he was a superpower. The Asian nations had come into their own around the same time as the English language, so naturally, they spoke it as well.

So Francis sat back as Alfred and Yao stood to yell at each other over Kiku's head, the Japanese man sending a weary glance toward Arthur on Alfred's other side, who simply shook his head and pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration.

Yes, being the linguistic leader of the world was a place Francis was glad to give up.

**A/N: I always thought Francis would hate to listen to others speak French, and then I wondered what everyone else's attitudes about language were, and voila! (*points* French!) Also, I'm listing this story as complete now, because I know a lot of people search for complete stories, but I do plan to continue updating, so if you want more, put it (or me) on alert! More chapters coming soon!**


	4. Mistletoe

**A/N: SUFIN CHRISTMAS FLUFF! I got this idea back around Christmas, but I was so busy trying to type my other backed up stories (you know, the Halloween-themed ones) that I didn't get to write it until a few days ago. But I adore this couple so much, and I like exploring this side of their relationship. So I hope you like it as well.**

**Characters: Sweden, Finland, Sealand**

**Genre: Romance, Fluff**

* * *

Tino loved his job playing Santa for the world, but it did mean he spent most of Christmas Eve away from his family and a good portion of the next day sleeping.

But he was lucky in that he began his route in a location that would lead him to Sweden exactly halfway through, so he could have a quick chance to see the two he loved most before continuing on his way.

He crept silently into the sleeping house, placing Peter's present under the tree and reaching to pet Hanatamago, who was sleeping before the dying fire. He scratched her behind the ears and stood as he heard footsteps behind him. He smiled.

_Every year._

When he turned, Berwald was standing in the doorway. He was leaning on one shoulder against the doorframe, his head tilted to rest against it as well, and his arms were crossed over his chest.

He looked at Tino with what, for Berwald, was a smile. His lips did not curve upward, but his expression was soft, and there was a gentle, loving light in his eyes.

And above his head, as always, there was mistletoe. Tino stepped forward and Berwald pushed off the doorframe and reached for him.

Tino lifted his hands to the other's neck and tilted his face up for a sweet kiss. Berwald leaned down and captured his lips, kissing him softly. Tino's arms wound around Berwald's neck as he lifted himself onto his toes to push up into the kiss just as Berwald gently deepened it and tightened his arms around Tino's waist, pressing their bodies close against each other.

Tino sighed contentedly against his husbands lips and finally pulled away from the unexpectedly heated kiss.

"Merry Christmas," he said, a little breathlessly. Berwald smiled down at him and squeezed his waist gently.

"M'rry Chr'stmas."

Tino smiled and kissed his nose. "I need to go…but I'll be home before you know it." Berwald nodded, kissed him again, and let him go.

He awoke several hours later to his son gently shaking him, smiling proudly and bouncing in excitement.

"We made you breakfast!" he declared. A glance behind him revealed Berwald, holding a tray and smiling at him. Tino smiled back as Peter climbed over his legs to sit beside him and Berwald put the tray on his lap.

Tino caught his lips quickly before he could stand again and then turned to kiss Peter's head fondly.

This was what he lived for. It was a very Merry Christmas.

* * *

**A/N: *SQUEE* I love them. If you do too, then please show your love in a review~ Hope you like this chapter and I have one more already written that I'll get to you soon. Thanks!**


	5. Touch Screen

**A/N: Oh Alfred, you clumsy cutie, you. I can definitely see this happening. And note that the date is Alfred's first birthday with Obama in office.**

**Characters: America, England, Obama **

**Genre: Humor**

July 4, 2009

Alfred never had problems with technology. He was quick to buy a television – and then a _color_ television – as soon as they were available. A good deal of his communication happened through email and text. He always had the newest state-of-the-art cars, and he'd even managed to install Skype on Arthur's laptop and taught him the most basic things about using it.

Yes, Alfred F. Jones was always talented with technology, but he had one technological vice and one vice only.

Touch screens.

Apparently, his thumb or the heel of his hand always got in the way and rested on the edge of the screen without his notice, pressing wrong buttons and preventing what he wanted to do. He also tended to be a bit rough and break them, but…well, they broke easily anyway. So he heard.

And this is why Arthur stood in the Oval Office on Alfred's birthday, looking between his boyfriend and his boss and fighting a laugh as Obama presented Alfred with the newest iPhone.

Alfred fumbled with the device, trying to test it out by calling Arthur, but sure enough, he pressed a wrong button and ended up on a random menu, with no idea how he got there.

In his frustrated attempts to return to where he started, the phone slipped from his hands and shattered on the floor.

The three of them stared at the broken remains of the expensive phone in silence for a moment until Alfred spoke up.

"Ah…Whoops! Sorry Mr. President!"

Arthur stood frozen in an expression somewhere between horror and extreme amusement. Alfred had just received and immediately destroyed a very expensive gift from the leader of the free world. It occurred to him that likely only Alfred could have done it.

He watched the president's expression flounder for a few moments before he finally closed his eyes and said slowly, "No Alfred… It's okay…"

Before anything else could be said, Alfred's other (non-touch screen) phone vibrated in his pocket and he checked it.

"Ah, that's Mattie. His plane just landed. We need to go get him."

With that, he grabbed Arthur's hand and pulled him out of the room, leaving the stunned president in their wake with another call of, "Sorry about that! Thanks for the thought!"

**A/N: Can anyone else see this as clear as day? I have one more humor chapter (also starring Obama) coming up, and then I have some ideas for some sadder chapters, but most of them will begin arcs of some sort, and I promise each arc will end happily, even if some chapters might not. Please review this chapter and share your love of clumsy Alfred! **


	6. Truth or Dare

**A/N: For the purpose of this story, all the countries have Facebook pages (with super private settings) and are only friends with each other. **

**Notes on names:**

**Kou – Hong Kong  
****Emil – Iceland  
****Mei – Taiwan  
****Kyle – Australia  
****Mikkel – Denmark  
****Maria – Mexico  
****Laura – Belgium  
********Morgens - Netherlands**

* * *

Elizabeta stared at her computer. She'd opted to head back to her hotel with Roderich instead of going to Feliks's house after the post-meeting dinner of the World Conference in Poland, but now she seriously regretted it. She was currently looking at Kiku's Facebook profile, at an album labeled "Truth or Dare."

The first picture was Francis, sporting a pair of electric blue stilettos, posed like a model and blowing a kiss at the camera. She shook her head.

Next she came upon Gilbert, grinning at the camera and wearing nothing but a frilly pink apron. Apparently Roderich had made it to these pictures before her. There were already comments.

"_Roderich Edelstein: And yet you still manage to make an 'awesome' pose. I have to applaud you Gilbert. But just so you know, you are not allowed to call my coat a dress or make fun of my ascot EVER again."_

"_Sadiq Adnan: You look like you'd make a wonderful housewife Gilbert."_

"_Roderich Edelstein: Yes, he does look it, but I assure you, he's absolutely awful at it."_

Elizabeta snickered and left her own comment "BAHAHA! Nice Gilbert."

Next up was Antonio…crouching naked in the snow. A black rectangle covered certain vital regions, but the wince on his face made it clear just what he was doing. A quick scroll through the comments revealed Maria and Laura discussing his antics.

"_Maria Garcia-Martinez: I...I have no words to describe his stupidity"_

"_Honda Kiku: It was Gilbert's idea."_

"_Maria Garcia-Martinez: That explains everything...*eye roll*"_

"_Laura Vermeulen: Ow-ow! ;) But seriously now, do I even want to know what you were thinking when you agreed to this?"_

"_Morgens Van der Berg: …"_

Next was Yao, sulking in a short dress and pigtails. Mei knelt behind him, giggling behind a hairbrush. As if the image wasn't funny enough, Kiku's caption made it that much better.

"_Smile…Onee-san."_

Beneath more comments from Vietnam and Thailand, Roderich had added,

"_Roderich Edelstein:_ _Nice new look Yao. You should try it more."_

The next picture showed him flipping off a very shocked Alfred. And the caption warned:

"_Alfred-san must learn not to make fun of onee-san's panda boxers (aru)"_

Alfred would pay for his comments in the next picture, where he was rather pitifully nibbling on a carrot.

Next up was Yong Soo, who also had to be edited by a black rectangle, because he was…streaking…down…the street. Elizabeta clapped a hand to her face and scrolled past it.

She blinked at the next picture of Kou, standing before Emil and pulling the other's face up to plant a firm but closed-mouthed kiss on the youngest Nordic's lips. She scrolled down and left a comment.

"_Elizabeta Héderváry: What the hell guys? ! What did I miss! ?"_

In just a few short moments, she received a reply:

"_Honda Kiku: A lot."_

Up next was a distressed-looking Feliks, wearing a too big Hawaiian shirt that was most definitely _not his_, a plaid skirt, one knee-high sock and once ankle sock, and two mismatched shoes.

Through her laughter, Elizabeta felt a small pang in her heart for the boy. She knew such ridiculously mismatched clothes must be absolutely killing him.

She peered at the next picture in confusion for a moment. Mikkel looked angry as he held up a piece of paper bearing writing she couldn't decipher.

"_Sadiq Adnan: A piece of paper. Explain man!"_

"_Honda Kiku: This is an agreement signed by Mikkel and Feliks, stating that Warsaw is the capital of Denmark until 12:00 a.m. tomorrow."_

"_Sadiq Adnan: I love it! Good job Feliks!"_

More nudity followed. This time it was Vash, holding a couch pillow over his lap and glaring at the camera, while a blushing Lilli giggled at his side.

Elizabeta's eyes widened at the next picture, where Tino straddled Berwald's lap on the floor in front of the couch, hands tangled in his hair, Berwald's arms wrapped tightly around his waist, and their lips locked in a passionate kiss. Everyone knew the two of them loved each other very much, but they were never affectionate in public. Tino would only do something so bold in front of others on a dare. She "Liked" the photo and moved on.

Oh dear God. Heracles, who she had noticed dozing in the background of some of the earlier photos, was wide awake and smirking at the now stolen camera. He wore nothing but a pair of kitty ears, lap hidden by a boxer-clad Kiku, who wore a rather large gift bow on his head and a bright red blush over his whole body, seeming none too pleased that someone had taken his camera away to record this moment.

She clicked "Like" once again scrolled down to the comments.

"_Sadiq Adnan: … Do I even want to know what happens after I go home?"_

Elizabeta clicked over to the final picture and actually brought a hand up to cover her nose, just in case, and proceeded to kill the "Like" button.

On one end of the couch, Francis looked amused. At the other end, Arthur did not. And between them, the North American brothers were locked in an intense make-out session, clearly dominated by Matthew.

She right-clicked the photo and saved it to her computer before scrolling down to the comments.

"_Kyle Taylor: WHOO! GO MATTIE!  
__[Mattie? Wow...Who knew you'd have the guts to do that...  
__-Chelles (I'm at Kyle's and I don't feel like logging in)]"_

Elizabeta stared at the image for a moment longer before clicking "Return to Album"

"_Elizabeta Héderváry: Seriously guys? What the hell? Come pick me up next time! ;) We're doing this again, ok!"_

She shook her head as she closed the computer, wondering just how much alcohol went in to some of those pictures, and vowing to _never _skip a post-meeting party again.

* * *

**A/N: Well? What do you think guys? I'm going to post this here for now, but I may post it as an independent story later. I'm not sure yet. As for some of the names... If they aren't official I researched and chose the last names on the spot, and the first names are the ones Kat and I always use. And we don't have one for Seychelles, because her country name is too pretty, so we call her Chelles.**

***Onee-san: Japanese for older sister**

Some of the darers to darees (remember some people said truth, so that's why not everyone appears):

Francis and his heels – An OC who isn't in this story.  
Gilbert's apron – Mattie. But Mattie just specified the apron. Gilbert stripped of his own will.  
Antonio in the snow – Gilbert.  
Yao in a dress – Kiku.  
Alfred eating a carrot – Ludwig  
Yong Soo streaking – Alfred  
Kou kissing Emil – another OC  
Feliks in his mismatched clothes – Toris, at a suggestion from Alfred  
Mikkel and Warsaw – Feliks.  
Naked Vash – Mikkel  
Tino and Berwald – Mei  
Naked Kitty Heracles – Tino  
Shirtless present Kiku – Feliciano, at a suggestion from Gilbert.  
Mattie and Alfred – Heracles, at a suggestion from Kou.


	7. Women Love That

**A/N: So, in our RP scenario, instead of Mattie being with Francis, he has a girlfriend (her name is Emily, but that's not really important here). I normally change the scenario to fit my Franada love in this story, but it just doesn't work for this one. But Mattie did go to Francis for advice before their first time. Here's just a tiny snippet. Hope you like it.**

"Has she before?"

Matthew was still blushing even discussing the topic, not entirely sure how they'd gotten here. He always planned to go to Francis first, but he wasn't exactly planning for anything to happen tonight, so he blamed Francis entirely for steering the conversation in this direction.

"I…I'm not sure, actually. If it is…I don't want to hurt her…"

Francis gave him a soft smile and patted his hair. "It's going to hurt if it's her first time, Mathieu. You can only try to lessen it. Be gentle, take things slowly, hold her. That kind of thing."

Matthew nodded, and Francis added, "And tell her she's beautiful. Women love that." He thought for a moment.

"Women and Antonio."

**A/N: Short chapter is short. But I love it. Do you? **

**Come on guys...reviews mean faster updates...I'm not one of those evil authors that refuses to update without reviews...but I get discouraged...So show some love! Thanks!**


	8. Sheiße

If there was anything Ludwig had expected that evening, it was _not_ a call from Alfred.

He'd just finished dinner and settled onto the couch with Feliciano, watching the Italian draw and enjoying the peace, with the television on in the background and Gilbert asleep in the armchair.

His phone buzzed in his pocket and he jolted a bit before pulling it out and answering.

"Hallo?"

"Hey, Ludwig! What's up man?" Ludwig blinked. He liked Alfred well enough, but they weren't the best of friends…why would the American be calling him so randomly?

"Um, hello Alfred…I'm doing well. Did you need something?"

"Yeah, actually. So Lady Gaga put out her new album today right?"

Ludwig didn't see what that had to do with him, but he answered, "Alright…and?"

Alfred continued, "There's this one song on it called 'Sheisse.' That's German for shit, isn't it? I hear Gilbert use it all the time." Ludwig winced at Alfred's casual usage and dreadful pronunciation.

"Ja…why would she call a song that? She wouldn't use the same word in English…" Honestly, what exactly was she trying to say about her own music?

"Well you see," Alfred went on, ignoring the question, "there's a lot of German in the song, but I can't understand it. And…Google Translate didn't work, which is weird but whatever. Anyway! Do you think you could look up the lyrics and tell me what they mean?"

He sighed, but it wouldn't hurt anything, and he wasn't particularly busy…so he pulled his laptop off the coffee table. "Sure, hang on a second…" He searched 'Lady Gaga Sheiße lyrics' and clicked on the first result.

Ludwig skimmed over the lyrics. Well there was the English part, and there…he squinted at the screen.

_Ich schleiban austa be clair  
es kumpent madre monstère  
aus-be aus-can-be flaugen  
begun be üske but-bair _

_Ich schleiban austa be clair  
es kumpent madre monstère  
aus-be aus-can-be flaugen  
fräulein uske-be clair_

…was that supposed to be German? Ludwig slid a hand over his face and sighed.

"Alfred…this is complete nonsense. It doesn't mean anything. There are a few words that don't make any sense in context, and 'madre' is Spanish, but most of it is gibberish."

Alfred paused. "Oh. Huh, guess that's why Google didn't help." Immediately he was back to his ordinary chipper self. "Oh well, thanks man! Say hi to everybody for me. See you at my birthday in a few months?"

Ludwig shook his head. "Of course. Goodbye Alfred."

Once Alfred had hung up Ludwig glanced at the lyrics still on his screen. Really, had Alfred missed that the first line was _I don't speak German_?

**A/N: …XD I had to. I took Alfred's Google method and figured out it didn't mean anything. **


	9. A Little Birdie Told Me

Elizabeta lay in bed the night of June 7, 1867, knowing she should sleep but completely unable to. She was getting married in the morning. It was surreal, really.

Of course, she had had a crush on Roderich forever now, but when it came down to it, they hardly knew it each other. He was always kind and respectful to her, but little else. This was a political marriage and nothing more, but maybe with time, they could learn to love each other. She didn't want to be just another of his marriages.

She finally closed her eyes, determined she would get some sleep. And that's when a tapping appeared at her window.

She turned and was surprised to see Gilbird fluttering outside, pecking at the glass and holding something in his beak. When she crossed the room and opened the window, he dropped his cargo on the sill and flew inside, circling her head once and landing on her shoulder. Elizabeta picked up what she now saw to be a folded slip of paper and scanned the grounds outside her room for any sign of Gilbert, but found none, returning to sit on her bed and absently stroking the birds head with her finger.

She opened the note and found Gilbert's messy, compact handwriting, with several large black smudges of scratch-outs.

_Liz,  
I never thought I'd have to miss your wedding. Ha, when we were kids there was a time I thought if you ever had a wedding it would be __mine__ too, and then I got older and realized what a fucking weird idea __that_ _was. But still, even then I thought you'd probably skip out on the bridesmaid and make me your best man, traditions be damned.  
Honestly, since a war with me is half the reason this wedding is even happening and I hear Roddy's boss wants revenge, I probably wouldn't be welcome there anyway. But if that was the only reason, why the hell would I care? I'd force my way in there for my girl…  
But it's not about you, of course. It's him. I just…I can't do it. I can't watch him marry someone else. Damn, Liz, if it was anybody else I'd be there to give you away, you know that. But to be there would just be too much for me to handle, and I'd just probably ruin the mood for both of you anyway, so I'm really sorry. I didn't write this to make you feel guilty though. I wrote it because I want you to know that I'm thinking about you, and I want you to be happy. And you will be, trust me. He's great, and he'll treat you right. I'm not worried about that._

_Enjoy the moment tomorrow, okay? You're going to look amazing. I wish I could see it. And this might really be it, for both of you. If anyone could get him to settle down, it's you. And who could __not__ love you? I hope it's everything you dreamed. You deserve it._

_I miss you. I love you. And hopefully I'll see you before too long._

_Love, your most awesome best friend, __always__,  
-Gilbert._

Elizabeta smiled a little sadly, dabbing at her eyes. Yes, she had thought about this, wishing Gilbert could be there and knowing he couldn't. His letter didn't hurt her feelings or make her feel worse, but she had already felt a little guilty anyway. She had always been jealous of Gilbert for being the only one to truly earn Roderich's love, outside of a political union, but after how messily they had ended, she only felt heartbroken for her best friend. Still, though, she wondered if she could ever measure up to Gilbert in Roderich's eyes or heart.

She didn't expect to hear from Gilbert at all, but the fact that he could write her a letter like this to tell her he was thinking of her and wishing her happiness the night before she married the man he still loved…

Gilbert truly was one of the strongest, most fiercely loyal people she'd ever known. Crude and brash as he was on the outside, he had a sensitive soul and a heart of gold.

She carefully tore off the blank bottom portion of the note and grabbed a pen to add:

_Gil,  
I love you and miss you too. Thank you for this. It means so much. I wish you could be there too, but I understand. Just remember: politics are fickle and constantly changing, but friendships are not. Things will calm down one day, and we'll just be you and me, like we used to be, always best friends, no matter what._

_Love, your __more__ awesome best friend (you know it's true. Don't deny it.),  
-Liz_

She folded the note and drew a small heart on the outside. With a kiss to the top of his feathery head, she handed the note back to Gilbird and moved to close the window after him. Slipping back into bed with a smile, she finally drifted off to sleep.

**A/N: I love this triangle, and I've always viewed Roderich, not Elizabeta, at the center of it. And I love Gilbert and Elizabeta as best friends above all else, no matter what life throws at them. My perception of Gilbert is much sweeter, and much deeper than the way most people portray him, and I like the chance to showcase that. I can see him writing this letter while biting his nails, pulling his hair and repeatedly scratching things out. I love Gilbert. **

**Let me know what you thought!**

**(Also, be sure to check out the exclusively USxUK version of this series, "20 Century Fox" on my profile!)  
**


	10. Ragin' Cajun

**A/N: ****Inspired by a conversation with****Ellarose C**** and her Cajun!Francis in her high school AU (Which you should all also read).** **Basically, we just discussed how canon!France would feel about being made a Cajun, and then how he would feel about interacting with his American descendants. **

Francis sighed and decided that there really was nothing useful he could do. Mathieu wasn't due to arrive until tomorrow, Arthur was out picking up a few last minute groceries, and Alfred flatly refused to let him do anything more than _look_ at the food, and even that seemed to make him nervous. And seeing as Francis hated being in a kitchen while there was cooking going on and not contributing, he realized his only options were perusing Alfred's selection of books (and no thank you, as he'd found long ago he and Alfred didn't exactly share a taste in literature), or flip channels on his television and attempt to find something bearable in the trash that was modern entertainment, and modern _American_ entertainment at that.

Hm…History Channel. Well, maybe after the commercial break they would be playing some sort of charming and completely inaccurate documentary about this odd holiday he was forced to celebrate twice a year despite many of his people not even knowing what "Thanksgiving" was. He set the remote down and waited.

When the break ended they came back to what appeared to be a group of men in dirty clothing attempting to haul a crocodile into a small boat – though for what purpose Francis had absolutely no idea.

He continued to watch this odd display with a mixture of disgust and fascination for some time, attempting to understand the speakers' words through their thick accents. Luckily, the producers were thoughtful enough to provide subtitles in some places. Apparently even other Americans had difficulty with this particular accent.

There was a pause in the action to center in on the man Francis perceived to be the head on his family, standing in a stretch of swamp, and talking about his ancestry.

…Wait.

…_came down from Canada… _And now they were in…

…No.

No.

It couldn't be…

It was at that moment that a key jangled in the lock and Arthur stepped through the door with plastic shopping bags hanging from his other hand, stuffing his keys back in his coat pocket. He nodded briefly at Francis as Alfred came in from the kitchen, wiping his hands on a dish towel.

"Ah, just in time!" He stepped over to take the bags and stole a kiss in the process. "Thanks, baby."

Arthur's cheeks pinked just slightly, and he smiled. "Of course, love. No problem."

Francis, at this time, recovered from his blank staring at Arthur, just as Arthur himself seemed to notice it and was about to question him.

"_You_," he said, pointing an accusing finger at Arthur. The Englishman blinked at him.

"Me?"

"Yes you. I've long gotten over you taking Mathieu from me, but when you expelled my people and sent them south, and…and… _this_," he gestured frantically at the television, "is what became of them!"

Arthur merely blinked again, confused by Francis's outburst and glanced at the tv, rolling his eyes and making a note to ask later why Francis was watching reality television.

Alfred, who had stopped half-way back to the kitchen, just laughed.

"Hey, Francis, now don't go hatin on my people. There's nothing wrong with their lifestyle, and they're just as smart as anyone else." He paused in thought for a moment. "Freakin' crazy though, I'll admit that. But all the more fun. They sure know how to throw a party!" He grinned, and Francis shook his head. "And hey, they even still speak French!"

Francis cracked one skeptical eye open from where his face had been resting against his hand. "Why do I have the feeling it bears no resemblance at all to my beautiful language?"

Alfred laughed. "Well, I would say 'because it doesn't', but it was good enough for them to work as translators for me back in the war. Yeah, you owe your freedom to those guys, buddy." He stuck out his tongue and made his way back to the kitchen.

Arthur looked between his retreating form and Francis as if trying very hard not to laugh. "See? My taking over Matthew's raising ended up saving your arse later on," he joked, stealing the remote and plopping down into the armchair. Francis threw a couch pillow at his head, but Arthur blocked it easily and flipped to History International, where there was indeed an appropriately inaccurate Thanksgiving documentary playing.

When Francis had focused his attention on the show, Arthur reached for the pillow and threw it back, hitting Francis squarely in the face. His expression was Arthur's "I'm thankful for _" at dinner the next evening.

* * *

**ANNOUNCEMENT: GUYS! I have a writing tumblr account now! And you're probably much more likely to get updates and kink meme de-anons there, because it's less hassle for me, so GO FOLLOW! (You can follow my main tumblr too (link is on the page) but I _really_ want people to follow the writing one more than the main). right here - libertybelle92 . tumblr . com**

**A/N: "Cajun" is shortened from "Acadian," a group of people exepelled from the Acadia region of Canada after the Seven Years War who settled in various parts of the French Louisiana Territory, but concentrated especially in what eventually became the modern state of Lousiana. I AM NOT bashing Cajuns here. I have Cajun heritage myself, but there is no denying the craziness inherent in the culture. I inherited a little of it myself. I thought Francis would be appropriately shocked, and I wanted to showcase it. **


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